A woman moved is like a fountain troubled, Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty.
I'll look to like; if looking, liking move.
Ill deeds are doubled with an evil word.
All things that are, are with more spirit chased than enjoyed.
Hamlet: Lady, shall I lie in your lap? Ophelia: No, my lord. Hamlet: DId you think I meant country matters? Ophelia: I think nothing, my lord. Hamlet: That's a fair thought to lie between maids' legs. Ophelia: What is, my lord? Hamlet: Nothing.
Sweetest nut hath sourest rind.